


Gliding Over with You

by orphan_account



Category: Breaking Bad
Genre: Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, they have a dog too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-29 00:44:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In reply to "Mike/Jesse, rimming" on the BrBa kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gliding Over with You

**Author's Note:**

> so this totally ran away from me and ended up being miles longer than i meant. also i feel like i didn't get the characterization down right, so throw criticism at me, it's way welcome.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All characters and ideas belong to Vince Gilligan, Sony, and AMC.

\----

"Relax, kid."

Jesse rolls his eyes, face resolutely set in a scowl that barely conceals just how self conscious he feels. His body's on fire and, though he's been hard for the better part of an hour, when it comes time for the clothes to come off, Jesse just can't seem to let _go_. It was always different with girls, something he thought he had down to a T. He knows how to rile girls up and wind them back down. He knows how to take control, not in some weird, rapey way, but to let girls rely on him, to let him take the lead. Being in charge has always been something Jesse's strived for, his usual arrangement that of a shot down opinion and (most times literally) a ride in the passenger seat. 

But with Mike, everything he learned, ever bit of dirty talk, every twist of his torso, every careful caress, every goddamn trick to make a girl lose her mind, _freaking out the window_. With Mike, Jesse discovered things he never thought he'd be into, things he never even knew _about_. 

With Mike, things are different. Things feel beyond his control, but in what must seriously be like the best kind of therapy or something. Sometimes, Jesse likes to think they share some sort of intrinsic bond, because Mike always just _knows_ how much to push before Jesse feels uncomfortable, knows how to handle him when Jesse's in hysterics. He knows how to not take things personally when Jesse lashes out and knows how to forgive him afterwards.

With Mike, Jesse doesn't need to say much. Most of their conversations seem to consist of facial expressions, body language, and sometimes those times they catch each other's eyes across the room when Jesse just _knows_ Mike's thinking the same thing. Jesse doesn't need to tell Mike he's in a bad mood just as much as he doesn't need to tell him he adopted a puppy for them. To Mike, the two are equally clear as day.

"You're still tense, Jesse."

Two warm, calloused palms slid up the expanse of Jesse's spine, meeting at his shoulders, and spreading to knead gently at his muscles. A low moan slipped from Jesse's lips, burying his face too late in the pillow (that smelled just like Mike's aftershave and _shit_ how could that alone be so soothing) in front of him. 

"You'd be tense too," he mumbles, words muffled but still audible. The hands pause momentarily, sliding back down to rest at the small of his back. Mike's thumbs work in small, deep circles on either side of his tailbone, resulting in a drawn out sigh on Jesse's part.

"You want me to stop you just say the word, kid," comes the soft rumble somewhere above him. Jesse's eyes open slightly, his head tilting to the side to show he hears the comment. Mike, in contrast to Jesse, is clothed in a shirt and boxers. He's straddling the backs of Jesse's thighs, though being careful, always careful, not to let too much weight rest on Jesse. And though Jesse might always insist he's not made of fucking glass, jesus christ, Mike always keeps his senses when it comes to how easily he could hurt the kid. 

Letting out another sigh, Jesse raises himself to his elbows and twists his head slightly to fix Mike with a look, all half-lidded eyes and a lazy tilt to his smile.

"Mike," he begins, pausing with that sort of deliberation that comes when Jesse's about to say something and actually mean it, " _you_ know I don't want you to stop. And," Jesse twists his torso slightly, his bare ass coming into contact with Mike's clothed crotch where, yeah, the guy is totally not lacking, "I _know_ you don't wanna stop, so just stop asking me if I wanna stop. 'Kay?" Mike's sharp inhale doesn't get past Jesse's ears and he grins, letting his hips roll backwards again.

Slighter rougher hands grip Jesse by the hips, firm enough to keep him pinned to the bed, but still maintaining that controlled, decidedly careful hold that only Mike can seem to execute perfectly. Mike's heavy erection, warmth emanating _through_ the cotton rests in the cleft of Jesse's ass. He thrusts once, twice, both times causing a little hitch in Jesse's breath.

"Cheeky little shit," Mike growls, absolutely no venom in the statement, affection and desire taking its place. His breath is suddenly directly behind Jesse's ear and he moans quietly when Mike's hands run along the length of his sides, gripping slightly on his shoulders as the head of his dick (and christ those boxers leave _nothing_ to the imagination) runs along his hole. 

"Mike," he breathes, the implication of that simple motion setting his brain to stun before it promptly fires on itself. His own dick, leaking precum onto Mike's pristine sheets, throbs as it's forced forward and creates a delicious friction. Falling limp, he concedes to Mike, shifting his face so he can speak properly.

"Lube's still in the drawer, right?" he asks, one hand gesturing lazily to the bedside table. At this point, Jesse really just wants Mike inside of him, wants to be held down and shit, _taken_ until he can't stay conscious. But Mike just lets out a small hum before laying a tender kiss to the back of Jesse's neck. 

"Let's try something a little different tonight," he murmurs, lips navigating to the shell of Jesse's ear and nipping gently. At this, Jesse blinks slowly back into awareness. 

"What kinda different?" he mumbles, words a little slurred.

"Nothing that'll hurt either of us. Just lemme take care of you, kid."

The way he could keep his voice so measured, could curb his own bodily needs to maintain that controlled, _consistent_ tone just made Jesse love Mike even more. The self discipline the man had never seemed to run out, even when pushed to his limit. 

"Stay just as you are, spread out just like that." Jesse nods his consent, arms sliding forwards and crawling under the pillow. He rests the side of his face on top, feeling the familiar sickly sensation of trepidation dripping into his stomach. He knows Mike would never hurt him, he trusts the man explicitly. But with Mike always comes to the acceptance of giving up control, and though he wants to, more than _anything_ , he always needs to be guided. Guided not by a harsh scolding and harsher glares, but with a hand to hold onto with all the affirmations he can dream of. With Mike he knows he's safe to be vulnerable.

The older man's hands once again grip his hips, though this time they gently guide Jesse onto his elbows and knees. Always guiding, never demanding, grip never too tight that Jesse couldn't break out of it, touches always seeking to cause pleasure, never take it. God, with Mike, everything just feels _right_.

Jesse can feel heat rise into his cheeks once again, especially when Mike's thumbs carefully spread Jesse's cheeks to reveal his small opening. He swallows dryly, teeth clenching, wondering what's taking so damn long because _really_ how was this anything different from what they usually --

"A-ahh," Jesse stutters out, eyes flying open, "What..yo, is that your _tongue_?" The idea, though something he's not unfamiliar with, has always seemed like something Mike would never do. Maybe Jesse just pegged Mike for being more vanilla in the bedroom?

"That it is, Jesse," comes the dry reply. And before anything resembling a word comes out of Jesse's mouth, a moan falls out instead. Mike's tongue (and god, does it feels so _obscene_ ) laps at his entrance again. Jesse burrows his face in the pillow once more, taking in the foreign sensations rolling down his spine and making themselves at home in his brain. 

The tip traces the rim of Jesse's hole, teasing, before dipping into the center and sinks shallowly inside of him, retracting, and pushing back in. Jesse can only moan again, face resurfacing to take in a breath. He shoves the pillow away, not entirely sure why, and rests his hot cheek against the cool bedspread. 

"Mi-iike," he moans again, hands holding tight to the sheets, "Shit, that's so -" he can't even describe it. To put it into words would ruin it. It's weird. It's not at all something he's used to. It would be out of the question if he hadn't just showered. But despite all these reasons it shouldn't be okay, Jesse knows the reason it's just fine. And if Mike hadn't thought Jesse would like it, he wouldn't have suggested it. And that right there, just the knowledge that Mike knows him better than himself, that this even happened at all because Mike wants to take care of him, only wins Jesse over again.

One hand migrates to Jesse's front where his cock dangles heavy between his legs. Mike's fingers engulf the shaft, leaving only the head to peek out, and he begins to stroke in a rhythm complimenting the slick slide and thrusts of his tongue. A breathy shout escapes Jesse's mouth, rocking forwards into the steady grip and backwards again, instinctively unsure of which direction to move his body. Fuck, Mike could always do this, always whittle Jesse down to the bare bones until nothing was left but raw _unadulterated_ need. 

"You doin' okay, kid?" Mike asks, voice rough, gravelly even, and Jesse knows this must be affecting Mike too. Jesse merely whines quietly, giving a quick nod of his head because honestly he's not sure he can trust his voice right now. Apparently satisfied with this, Mike shifts to the side, out of Jesse's eyesight, and Jesse hears the familiar sound of the bedside table drawer sliding open, followed by the small "pop!" of a familiar cap. It takes only a few seconds before he feels the cool slide of Mike's (christ, when did it get so _thick_ ) index finger sliding in, fitting snugly inside him. With only a few moment's pause, it crooks slightly and hits his prostate, rubbing against it with enough force that it lands just shy of painful. Jesse's breathing came in gasps, hips stuttering forward into Mike's big palm, and again backwards onto his finger.

"Beautiful," he hears vaguely, just audible over the sound of his own breathing, "You're _gorgeous_ , kid."

It's really this that sends Jesse over the edge. With a cry that might have been Mike's name, he spends himself onto the comforter, eyes slipping shut without his even realizing. He slides forward, upper torso resting entirely on the mattress while his knees (or is it Mike's hands) keep his hips upright.

He gives himself a minute (or is it an hour?) to collect his senses again, but when he does, Jesse lets out a low chuckle that shakes his whole body, a chuckle oozing contentment. Glancing back, Jesse offers that lazy smile again. 

"So I'm relaxed now," he says, raising his eyebrows in clear insinuation. Jesse twists his body around, sighing in relief once he's laying comfortably on his back. Gazing up at Mike, his lips curl upwards before he reaches up to loop his arms securely around the older man's neck. Jesse pulls Mike down until he has to use both arms to support his weight and meets Jesse's lips with his own. Their lips part, tongues meet, and it's that perfect sort of post orgasmic haze that's better than any drug Jesse's tried, but that he's only ever felt with Mike. 

Pulling back slowly, Mike moves to separate entirely from Jesse, but he doesn't get far. Jesse winds his legs around Mike's waist, bracketing him in and forcing him close enough to feel the engorged erection still nestled within the confines of Mike's boxers. With a cut off grunt, Mike remains still and fixes a single raised eyebrow at Jesse. It's clear he's asking what Jesse wants to do now, leaving the decision entirely up to the kid with none of the power but the most important opinion.

Shrugging, that smile still holding strong, Jesse reaches a hand between both their torsos and slides his fingers inside the waistband of Mike's boxers and along the length of Mike's cock. He gives a gentle squeeze followed by an even gentler tug, blue eyes positively sparkling with mirth as Mike's breath quickens slightly. But he knows by now this isn't the way Mike likes it. Caressing and stroking has its place, but Mike requires a firmer hand, something a little rougher, to really get off.

"C'mon," he mutters, withdrawing his hand to pull Mike's shirt up, succeeding in persuading the older man to slip it off himself, "want these off." The boxers come next, falling off the bed and into a black hole for all Jesse cares because _finally_ there's skin on skin contact and shit, if Jesse didn't already know how much better it could feel, he'd be satisfied with just this. Mike's larger body encases his, making him feel safe, protected, _cared for_. And as sappy as it sounds, Jesse can't remember ever feeling so secure.

"Jesus, kid," Mike breathes out, hips thrusting gently against Jesse's quickly hardening cock. The weight of Mike's erection dwarfs his own, sliding slowly, _slowly_ , awakening Jesse's desire once more. It's getting to the point, he knows, where Mike's control is wearing thin. Where it never takes much for him start unraveling from that tightly reined in discipline. To be perfectly honest, Jesse _loves_ when Mike gets like this. When Mike's inhales are more strained, when quiet grunts and muted groans fall from his lips, when his hands grip just a little too tight. 

"Hey," Jesse's fingers caress Mike's back slowly, sliding around to push slightly against his chest. Mike's movements stop almost instantly, his grip slackening and hands repositioning to the bed so as to get a better look at Jesse's face. The slight frustration is evident, but is drowned out by a sincere look of concern. Jesse quirks a smile again.

"You gonna fuck me or what?" he asks, intending for it to come out so much more snarky, but ending up as sounding kind of more needy which, fuck it, he can work with. Especially when it causes that intensity behind Mike's eyes to light up again. With a low exhale that could have been a laugh, Mike levels his gaze and smiles softly, even fondly.

"Kid, I dunno how many times we've been through this," he says, one hand moving to cup Jesse's cheek, "it's called 'making love.'" He seals that statement with a kiss, making it seem so much more like a _promise_ than anything else. Pulling back, he casts one more long, meaningful look into Jesse's eyes before pulling away entirely. He returns a moment later with the bottle of lubricant and coats two fingers slowly and deliberately.

"You reeeally don't have to do that, yo," Jesse says, eyeing Mike's fingers, "I mean, we've done this how many times? Pretty sure I'm a pro by now."

Mike doesn't pause for a moment and only moves to grab the discarded pillow and, with ease, lifts Jesse's hips and sliding it beneath them.

"Jesse," he begins, settling one hand beside Jesse's head to support his weight, his other hovering near Jesse's entrance. Locking eyes, Mike makes sure to keep his face as open and honest as possible.

"We do this, we do it my way. And my way is ensuring you don't get hurt. Do you know why I don't want you to get hurt?" Here he pauses, not intending this to be a lecture, but continues on before Jesse can even open his mouth.

"I don't want you to get hurt because I care about you. You are, without a doubt, one of the most important people in my life." An index finger slowly circles Jesse's hole, causing him to tense up slightly before he remembers to stay relaxed. He wants to hear every word Mike says to him, wants to drink in each syllable as long as he says it in that tone of voice he _never_ uses with anyone else.

"I take care of the people that are important to me, and that always includes you." The finger breaches his opening, loosening up already pliant muscles before the second joins it. Jesse moans again, his hands gripping Mike by the shoulders, fingers digging in and normally Jesse might be concerned about hurting the other person. But this person is still Mike and he doubted he could really hurt the guy if he tried and maybe it was just because the guy's fingers were up his ass but shit, that thought was far too arousing.

"Mike.. _fuck_ ," he grunts, barely noticing when the older man coats his fingers in lube again, but definitely noticing when a third finger found its way inside him. He rocks back on them, hands slipping and sliding, finally finding purchase after he winds his arms around Mike's neck and holds on tight, needing this sort of stability, this sort of anchor that assures him that yes, he was fine, he wasn't about to get tugged into a whirlpool of feelings and sex without any of the emotional fulfillment so goddamn necessary when he felt this goddamn _exposed_.

"That's it, kid, I've got you," comes the reassuring voice next to his ear, "You're doing great, so good. Just relax, let me do the work."

Next comes the slow withdrawal of his fingers, leaving Jesse feeling open, instantly missing the sensation of being full. He lets out a low whine, eyes blinking open (when did he even close them?) as he watches Mike rub more lube over the length of his cock. Jesse licks his lips, taking in the sight of his swollen erection and just wanting it inside of him already.

Mike leans forward again, arms closing around Jesse's shoulders and slipping underneath them, grasping firmly without applying too much pressure. It's these moments too, Jesse notes as his dazed eyes lock with Mike's, that really assure him that he'd made the right decision, that _this_ , this man too many years his senior with a sense of humour like sand paper and the personality as bright as the goddamn sun when he wants, this was the person he's waited his whole life for. 

"Ready?" Mike asks, those blue eyes (a cop's eyes, _analytical eyes_ ) searching his face for any sign of discomfort, any indication that no, he's not ready. Jesse settles for a kiss that feels as desperate as it does being returned. It serves as an excellent distraction when the head of Mike's penis nudges against Jesse's opening. Drawing back for breath, he willfully relaxes himself, granting entrance to Mike, knowing full well the deep exhale that kind of even resembles a growl is due to _him_.

Sliding the rest of the way in, as if unable to totally control the movement of his hips, Mike pauses deliberately, body shaking slightly with the effort, all for the sake of peering at Jesse's face again, forever double checking that he's not causing any harm. Feeling a mixture of fondness and frustration, Jesse tightens his legs around Mike's waist, locking him in by his ankles, and rocks his hips forward.

"I'm not gonna _break_ , Mike," Jesse tilts his face up to reach Mike's ear, letting his tongue trace the shell before nipping at the lobe, "I can take whatever you can give me." 

"Shit, kid," is the immediate reply, Mike's cock withdrawing before sinking back in, almost like he can't help himself, like the pull of Jesse's body is too great to cling onto any semblance of self control, but damn is Mike trying. 

"I don't want to hurt you, Jesse," he continues, voice sounding strained, but his hips continue to slowly advance forward before pulling back and Jesse begins to believe he's actually making progress, breaking down Mike's defenses to the point where maybe the man couldn't stop if he tried, that maybe instinct is finally taking over Mike's more composed faculties. "Never wanna hurt you."

Jesse keens high in his throat, feeling the slow drag against his prostate again, this time courtesy of the head of Mike's cock. "Shit, Mike," he responds, breathlessly, almost giggling for fuck's sake, "I thought this was making love. Love making - ahh - doesn't hurt, right? So - oh _christ_ \- make _love to me already_."

This is seemingly the last straw for Mike's self control. With a groan, the older man uses the leverage he has grasping onto Jesse's shoulders to pull the kid toward him with each inward thrust. His face is buried in the crook of Jesse's neck, hot air puffing against Jesse's already overheated body, pressing wet kisses to every inch of skin he can find. Mike's cock, already larger than average, feels even bigger inside of Jesse. He tenses up slightly, feeling each ridge and vein on the erection driving deeper and deeper. He feels more than hears the resulting moan from Mike, and feels exhilarated once again that it's _him_ causing that sort of reaction, Jesse Pinkman, meth head, dropout, a self-proclaimed screwup as the sole reason for Mike's loss of control. It's empowering and humbling all at once.

Mike releases one shoulder to grasp onto Jesse's own erection, something he honestly hasn't even been that concerned with until this moment when that simple touch brings all his blood to the surface, reawakening a level of arousal he hasn't felt in awhile. One giant palm strokes him quickly in sync with Mike's own thrusts. Clearly the man isn't going to last long and, as always, finds the brain cells to dedicate solely to Jesse's pleasure. 

"Ahh! Uhhn, Mike, god, _Mike_ ," Jesse calls out, hips jerking backwards and forwards, legs tightening around Mike's waist again, pulling him impossibly closer, impossibly deeper, while Mike's breath comes as quick gasps, voice issuing forward in deep moans and grunts foretelling a quickly approaching climax. 

Feeling the same urgency in his own groin, balls feeling tight, dick leaking precum, Jesse's voice rises in both volume and pitch, urging Mike on, telling him meaningless things like _harder_ and _c'mon, more, please oh god Mike, more_ until his completion is suddenly happening and Jesse sees white, body convulsing, hips rocking of their own accord, heedless of any and all words coming out of his mouth, realizing a few moments later they're not coming from him. Again, he catches small snippets, Mike's voice so low he has to strain to hear it over the frenzied thrusts, the hands suddenly gripping his thighs to hold his legs open more. 

"That's it baby, so beautiful, so..unngh," Mike doesn't even seem aware of his words, "Made for this, made for _me_ , baby, fucking perfect." The sentences lace together, Mike's fingers digging deeper into Jesse's thighs, thrusting heavily into Jesse's body over and over and over and over until the familiar internal throbbing starts, soon followed by the sensation of Mike's essence, his _cum_ flowing inside of him, marking him, branding him even. Making him Mike's and Mike his until they're sort of the same person at least for a few blinding, hour-long seconds.

The warmth of Mike's bigger body engulfing his own, keeping him immobile, is really too comforting for words. Jesse's arms hold Mike tight against his body, letting out a sigh when those strong arms wrap around his back, holding him just as tight.

"Ah, Jesse," comes the quiet rumble, lips trailing down his neck to the junction leading down his shoulder, "Jesse, Jesse.." Mike captures his lips again, kissing him slowly, gently, as if afraid he'd been too rough, afraid he'd screwed up somehow. Pulling back, Jesse realizes he'll never get tired of being this close to Mike, face to face, completely open and bare for each other to see but more importantly _accept_.

"I really love you," he mumbles, words heavy with exhaustion, words spoken dozens of times already but losing no meaning over time.

Mike just smiles, really smiles, before kissing him again. "I love you too, kid." Stroking Jesse's cheek gently, brushing sweat soaked bangs away from his forehead, Mike simply takes a moment to drink in the sight of his kid, his Jesse, as bare and open and _comfortable_ as possible. And though he's loathe to cause any disruption, he knows he needs to pull out or risk a situation he's got no intention of allowing.

Being as gentle as possible, Mike leans backwards and, gripping himself at the base, eases himself out of Jesse's body. Jesse himself lets out a small sound of discomfort, but easily settles once Mike all but collapses next to him.

He lowers the comforter over their nude bodies, pulling the slighter man against himself and making sure to keep his arms securely around Jesse's torso. If he's learned anything from their relationship, it's that Jesse's a cuddler, and he will cling for all he's worth. He's found it's best to cling back just as much. He runs one hand up and down Jesse's back soothingly, mindlessly caressing.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he asks after a few minutes of silence, keeping his voice at a low volume. Silent laughter shakes the form in his arms and Mike would scowl if he weren't so damn content.

"I already told you, didn't I?" Jesse's words are airy, light, lacking any of the usual gravity the kid seems to carry around with him. "But no, you didn't. I'm still in one very satisfied, sleepy piece." He leans up to kiss Mike, slow, less like the tango and more like a waltz. Pulling back, he raises a hand to trace a finger over the man's cheek, across his nose, and up to his forehead. Jesse smiles.

"Yo, don't worry so much; you'll get wrinkles."

Mike immediately lets out a chuckle, free of his own usual weight and stress. He splays a hand over Jesse's waist and gently strokes the sensitive skin there.

"It's a little late for me, kid," he replies, looking at Jesse's face fondly, "I meant what I said earlier; you're incredibly important to me, Jesse. But some wrinkles wouldn't stop me worrying anyway."

Feeling a vague tightening in his throat, Jesse nods his head, that sleepy smile still tugging at his lips. "That mean I get to worry all I want then?"

"Kid, let me handle the worrying. You just handle the dog."

Sharing a laugh, Mike kissed Jesse softly, one hand cupping the kid's chin while the other pulled him closer. He pulled back, caught Jesse's eyes struggling to remain open, and smiled.

"Ready to go to sleep?" he asked softly, caressing that same cheek. Jesse's eyes slipped closed and he merely hummed in agreement. Feeling that funny sensation well up in his chest, Mike closes his own eyes, finally ready to sleep.


End file.
